


One day at a time

by the_writing_owl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Medic is the good guy here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_writing_owl/pseuds/the_writing_owl
Summary: Heavy receives a devastating message and has to deal with the aftermath of a loss he wasn’t prepared for.
Relationships: Heavy/Medic (Team Fortress 2)
Kudos: 84





	One day at a time

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for people who are currently mourning or have difficulties with the topic of death!  
> Please don’t do this to yourself if you are not comfortable with reading about the death of a close family member.
> 
> I wrote all of this in one go and yes, it’s a little hasty at times and… well maybe i will go over it another time to polish it up, but i just needed to writes this down.

He knew that something was wrong the moment he opened that letter.

A weight of lead that had settled in his stomach as soon as he unfolded the paper and his eyes found characters that should look as familiar as the blood in his veins, but were off, distorted even. The usual handwriting of a self assured women, normally thrown on paper as a composition of bold lines and swooping loops, big letters that where written unashamed but in neatly put lines, was destroyed by wiggles where the hand had cramped around the pen, by little circular stains that had left the paper crinkled and the familiar Cyrillic words blurred after the wet source of it was left to dry. He knew something was terribly, terribly wrong before he even had forced his mind to decipher the first word. And it scared him.

He, who feared not man nor war, not bullet or blade. He, who laughed in the face of his attackers, because he did have to kill before he even had grown from a boy into a men. He, the big Russian bear, stoic and punishing in the face of danger, joking and cheering in the midst of the gruesome reality of a never ending dance on the battlefield, that was his job and his life, was dead afraid like a child in the night. Not knowing yet what was lurking in the dark, only that it would pounce eventually.

 _Zhanna had cried…_ a thought that made Heavy shutter to the core. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, but his sister was a proud woman, strong and enthusiastic. She had braised the cold of winter to find food for the family with him when she was hardly taller then the hunting rifle he had carried. And after he, her older brother and man of the household, had gone off to America for work, she was the one in which he trusted to keep their mother and younger sisters safe and feed. To maintain the weapons, to see after the traps in the woods and to make sure to kill the ghosts of the past that might come after them. The ones that had slipped through his own fingers.

The Russian gently ran his enormous hands over the letter, bracing himself before gingerly picking the thin sheet of paper up with his big, calloused fingers and dark blue eyes begun to scan over the sentences, calling his mind to order and compelling his brain to read. And so he did. He read the letter once. Twice. Three times. Deciphering the meaning of the pained words that filled the page, comprehending the importance but not grasping the significance. Unwilling to understand and averse to even start accepting the truth that was so undeniable.

 _No, no… No!_ It wasn’t true. He misunderstood! It couldn’t be. It just… It just couldn’t!

“мать...” (Mother...)

The time was ticking by mercilessly, stretching minutes into hours, pulling the sun from the sky just to plunge his room into a darkness that was fitting the empty space that the understanding had ripped in his heard. 

His mother was dead.

The woman who had beard and raised him, that had used her own body as a shield against violence and coldness. That had hungered for her kids to eat and has had shed countless tears over the loss of her husband and the hurt that others brought upon her family after that. The woman who had sang to him in the hell that was the Gulag to not let the flame in his heart die. His Mother… was dead, and nothing could bring her back. No Miracle Machine for her, because it was reserved to pick up the broken bodies of hired killers from the private battlefield of a petty war. No Medigun from a crazy German scientist to engulf her heart in a mist that made it beat again.

Heavy stood up and walked to his dresser, placing his hands on either side of it. The wood complained with a creak when the man put his weight on it leaning forward. The face that looked back from the mirror was not that of the REDs Mercenary and it wasn’t his hands that pulled the second drawer open to pick an unlabeled bottle out off between some old shirts, it was Mikhail. And it was Mikhail who unscrewed the cap and brought the neck of the bottle to his lips, who took as sip and then another and another till he had to gasp for air and choked as an aftermath of drawing in a big gulp of it into an alcohol burned throat. And after that it was Misha who slid to the ground. Not the hired killer who laughed while firing his mini-gun, not the Russian bear who sent half his salary back home or sang old songs with his friends, but only a boy who had lost his mother. And he cried.. because there was nothing else he could do.

A series of knocks pulled him out of a dream. A wonderful, gracious sleep that left him in a haze of merciful ignorance, when he was awoken from it. A few moments of blissful peace that clung to his mind like tar.  
“Yo, big guy! Roll call was five minutes ago! If you don’t want Soldier to tear down your freaking door you should _really_ hurry man!”  
Mikhail rolled his shoulders, provoking a sharp pain to run up his spine. He had fallen asleep on the floor leaned against his dresser. An empty bottle next to him. Why had he been drinking?

“Yo Heavy! Are you even awake?”  
He fought against the fog in his mind.  
“Da! Da, am awake.” he managed to answer barely loud enough, with a husky voice that threatened to crack with every syllable he forced out off his dry mouth. The weapon specialist cleared his throat with a guttural growl, like he tried to gurgle with pebbles.  
“Five minutes!”  
“Okay...” Scout drew the word out in a way that indicated a slight concern. “Hurry up.. please. I try to keep Solly from blowing a gasket till then.”  
Heavy had managed to lift himself from the ground in the meantime, a hand finding his head and still slightly swollen eyes his desk. The memory kicked him like a pissed off donkey.

A few minutes later Heavy walked into resupply, or better said, he managed to at least step over the threshold before a livid Soldier stood breast to breast with him… almost. The face and neck of his war hardened colleague was as red as his uniform jacked while he waved an admonitory finger up to Heavy’s eye level. The Russians face was set in stone, his mind blank as he waited for the patriotic man to finish his rant. Behind said furious mess emerged a familiar silhouette in a pristine white lab coat. Curious eyes first glanced over the crinkled shirt, the mountain of a man hadn’t change due to a lack of time, then over the bare hands, because he had forgotten to put on his gloves, gracing over the unshaven chin before fixing themselves onto eyes that, despite all the cold water he had purred over his head, where still a little bit red.

“Soldier.” Medic started “Soldier, I think this is enough.” his accent slunk around the letters like a fox through the scrub while he tried to reach through the fury in his teammates mind “Soldier!” but to no avail. Huffing the Doctor stepped forward “So help me god…” and put a heavy hand on the screaming mans shoulder. “Jane! Enough!” That had worked. Startled to hear his name while on duty, the American looked at the teams physician with utter confusion.  
“Jane, go and check your rocket launcher.“  
„But I...“  
Every ounce of warmth bleed out of Medics eyes while he set his jaw.  
„That is an order, Soldier!“  
„Yes, sir!“  
The coldness went as fast as it had came “What's the matter, mein Liebster? You ….”  
“Get ready!” it was the harsh voice of the Administrator that would soon start the countdown to battle.  
“No time to talk. Fight will start soon.” Mikhail walked to his locker and picked up his beloved gun but today not even Sasha was able to make him smile. “Follow behind me doctor.”  
The German tilted his head in a way more natural for birds than men. “I will.”

Dinner was eaten in an unusually tense atmosphere that evening. By now even the last one of the Mercenary’s had picked up that something was wrong. Even Pyro had somehow put together that Heavy was acting strange, but nobody really dared to say something. Not even Medic spoke up again after he had tried the whole goddamn day already.  
The Russian stood to carry his still full plate into the kitchen, Sniper raised an eyebrow at that but remained as silent as the others. Even when Heavy left the room without a single wave of the hand let alone a -good bye- and Demo drew his eyebrows together in an concerned frown because of it, not one noise was to be heard - other than chewing and the scraping of cutlery. A few moments passed. “Herrgott nochmal!” the screeching of a chair being pushed over the tiled floor was loud enough to hurt ones teeth. Medic threw his napkin onto his plate and run after Heavy.

“Mikhail! Mikhail, open your door! I can’t help you Sturschädel if you don’t talk to me!”  
No answer.  
“Misha…” he tried, voice soft and obviously hurt. “Please! Liebster, talk to me.”  
No answer.  
The telltale sound of a zippo style lighter flicking open prompted the German to look to his right. “It must be really bad, if he doesn't even want to talk it over with you.” the Spy stated.  
He only got a deep sigh as an answer.  
“Tell me mon ami, there is no chance that you carry any weapons with you at the moment?”  
The physician crossed his arms in front of his chest.  
“What have you done?”  
“Only my job.” Spy took a graceful step back “I made a quick detour into our good friends room while he was in the showers after battle.”  
The German pinched the base of his nose with two fingers “Remember me to ask Engie to set up a sentry behind my door.”  
The assassin chuckled while decreasing the distance between them again, but went serious as soon as he locked eyes with the doctor.  
“I found a letter on his desk, my russian is a little rusty but the core message wasn’t hard to grasp. His mother died around two weeks ago. It came very sudden, as far as I understood it.”  
Spy tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling while he tried to see the letter in front of his inner eye again.  
“It came out of nowhere brother, ” he recited in a murmur “...no illness, no nothing, not even a stupid dream as a warning.”  
He hummed in concentration. “ She also wrote that there was not enough time to get a doctor in the house … nor a priest… that the funeral had already had to be held and she was hoping that the letter would arrive fast and he could come home soon..” the mercenary fixed his gaze at his colleague again who had went pale. “Should i open that door for you?”  
“Please.”  
The lock didn’t put up much of a fight against the trained agent of espionage, but as soon as the bolt clicked back, the French backed away from the door as well. “Good luck, mon ami.”  
Medic drew in a deep breath… and knocked again.  
“Mikhail, I'm coming in.”

The room was dark as a grave but through the light that fell in from the corridor, the German could see the outline of his Lovers body resting on the bed.  
  
“Misha?”  
Silence.  
The Doctor entered the room and because he was closing the door behind him, the darkness swallowed them both again in her embrace. Medic stood still, concentrating on the breath of the man he had been so concerned about, that he had completely forgotten what he wanted to say as soon as he had the chance to do so. He wasn’t any good with… things like this. Should he offer his condolences? Tell him that he understood? It would be a lie… Yes, his own parents were also dead already, but there was no sadness in his heart because of it. He remembered feeling mournful when his grandmother had died, but as she herself had always said: Death is a part of live. After it, there might be nothing, so better to do something with the time granted. _Shit…._ Should he offer to speak a prayer with him? Did he even remember one? _Ah damit!_ He was a man of science for crying out loud! He understood the mechanics of grief from a psychological point of view but he was better with syringes and scalpels than soothing words and optimism! Medic dragged a hand over his face, mumbling a very explicit curse under his breath before he slowly and carefully started to walk. He made the few meters to the bed without stumbling, sinking down to the floor at around the place he assumed his significant others shoulders should be, and there he waited. 

Without nothing but the weapon specialists breathing to focus on, the European quickly lost track of time and soon, he started to feel a little drowsy. And a slight pain in his back… No wonder, he wasn’t in his twenties anymore… or thirties, to be perfectly honest.  
The dark haired man shifted a little to get more comfortable and allowed his head to fall back onto the upper arm of his companion.  
“Misha? I know what happened.” he started simply, trying his hardest to round the vowels in the typical way of his hometowns dialekt, he knew that Mikhail found it … cute. So Medic almost never did it out of principle. “But what I don’t know is how to make it better.” _Himmel! I really am clumsy with this.._ “I could talk to the Administrator for you? Regarding a compassionate leave?” Heavy didn’t react. “Or maybe we start with something easier? Dinner maybe? You know you have to eat _something_ today?” And still the human bear remained silent.  
Medic huffed out a noise somewhere between frustration and anger. Anger that he could do fuckall to help. He had invented a machine that could stitch a mangled body back together in seconds! He could transplant a genetically modified baboons heart into a human's body while said human was fully conscious and out of pain (almost). Why couldn't he comfort someone he so deeply cared about in times of need? 

“Mein Liebster.. say something, please. Tell me what you need me to do.” the physician muttered. God he felt so tired.  
“Ludwig?” it was only a whisper. Such a little sound. It was hard to believe that it had came out of such an impressive rib cage.  
“Yes?”  
“I … it’s hard to say in english. Don’t know the words to speak what my heart feels.”  
Now it was on Medic to stay quiet, but he reached up to put his hand on the other man's shoulder.  
“I don’t have energy” the giant continued. “Don’t know what to do when morning comes.”  
“Well, you stand up.”  
“Said it already, don’t...”  
“You will stand up.” Medic repeated. “Because I will be here to pull you out of that bed.”  
“And then?”  
“Then you will wash your face, put on some clothes and come to eat breakfast with me.”  
“Isn’t so simple…”  
“It won’t be easy," the doctor agreed "but yes, it is that simple.”  
  
Ludwig pulled of his boots, stood up, stepped over his lying Lover and somehow managed to squeeze himself between Heavy and the wall, which was a endeavor massively complicated by the fact that he was a tall man that had quite broad shoulders himself. And that he was still wearing his lab coat which tangled itself around his legs as he shimmied around to somehow get comfortable. Finally he ended up with one arm and his head on the others chest, right under his chin, the rest somehow stuffed in the small space next to his beloved bear.  
Mikhail smiled in the dark. It was just a weak uptick of the lips but it was something.  
“Da, not easy. And after that?”  
“After that… we will see. One step after another … one day at a time.”  
Misha nodded. He still felt like the world had lost its colour, like there was a weight in his stomach that pulled him down and a cold hand around his heart, squeezing every bit of warmth out of him... but at least he wasn't alone.  
Another body that tried to give him some of his warmth and another heart that offered him comfort. Mikhail curled his arm around his Lover.  
“Thank you.” still a whisper but there was more force behind it now. “I will try… One day at a time.”


End file.
